The Journal of a Part Time Shipper
by ImTheHero
Summary: So, I ship things on occasion. Like Destiel and Johnlock. and sometimes I just write crap Drabbles that i feel are worthy of FF net :) More info inside, Mostly a SuperWhoLock Drabble collection. :3 M for the occasional smutty sounding drabble.
1. Slow Burn - Destiel

**A/N: So, i'm a part time shipper. Sometimes i like Dean and Cas as just bros doing bro-tastic things. And sometimes i want my fucking smut. xD... This Fic will probably have stuff from a ton of different shows and movies I watch. Just so you know. So chapters will look like: "Title" - (ship) or (central character) to make things easier. So have fun with my poorly written fics! Love you~**

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_**SLOW BURN**_

Dean was suffocating.

Drowning in the thick musk of lust and angelic pheromones.

It was like this every time those damn midnight arches of perfection fluttered from Castiel's back. The feathers in front of him twitched and begged to be touched, even ruffling under Dean's hands so his fingers had more control.

Dean had just finished a hunt and was on his way to the motel when he felt those feathers brush against his cheek. He hadn't seen them right away but he knew them simply by the smell. It was addicting and delicious and an instant aphrodisiac against his skin. And Cas totally fucking knew it. Some days Dean felt like he was being used, being played, he took it out on Cas lovingly with a smirk. Pulling on his hair as he wrestled for control of the kiss that got too hot too quickly, leaving his mark along his pale collarbone as he raked his fingers through the backs of Cas's midnight wings, and Castiel in turn would flip them and pin Dean to the bed with said wings as he gave him the same treatment with the added bonus of his hands free to do as they pleased. There was no escape… and Dean easily fell to his mercy...

'for now…' Dean told himself as he tugged his wrists against the heated muscle of Castiel's powerful wings. Somewhere in the back of his mind Dean felt like he should stop. Not because Cas was currently in a dude. He's had the occasional experiment with the dark haired man in the leather jacket camped out in the corner of the bar. No, it was because Cas was an angel. He never thought angels could be so…_ convincing_. But currently, he couldn't care less. He pried his hands free and roughly pulled Cas against him, simply holding him there.

"Cas… stop for a sec…" Dean panted as he fought the overwhelming urge to rut against his hips. Dean's smirk grew when he saw Castiel's lips pull into their own sly smile.

"Need to catch your breath?" he rumbled in Dean's ear before he slid those swift hands just under Dean's shirt to toy with the hem of his jeans.

"You wish…" Dean chuckled and pushed Cas back against the bed. "I want to watch you melt…" Dean said against Castiel's neck as he ground slowly against his body, savoring the length of their contact before sliding a leg between Cas's and rolling his hips into him again. Cas's moan was breathy and hitched as his feathers rose then settled in satisfaction.

"Slower…" Cas groaned and lifted Dean's shirt free of his body. Dean paused for only a moment before firmly planting a kiss against Cas's neck. His hands seemed to scorch Castiel's skin as Dean slowly worked his shirt open button by button. Cas's own hands slid up Dean's arms, taking his time and resting his palm over the burn mark, his mark, on his human… he pulled Dean in closer, lips just millimeters from each other as he looked him directly in his eyes. Dean stared back and this time, the both of them felt so very exposed. They stayed like that as Dean pushed off Castiel's shirt, watching for any indication that he was going to break. Cas tried to press into Dean but he held him down and a smile crawled onto his features. In the end, they both broke, going in for the kiss at the same time. Dean's hands gripped Cas's hair and tilted his head, going deeper until he was sure he was completely lost. He had no idea they switched again until he'd opened his eyes to find Cas's wings arched back against the ceiling, encasing them in that addicting scent.

Dean turned his head and buried his face in the soft down. He felt Cas's lips against his neck. He closed his eyes and inhaled as deep as his lungs could allow. He moaned and a shudder ran through him, his head freshly fogged in bliss. Castiel pulled his wings in around them tighter and trailed dozens of small kisses down his chest and stomach, taking his time as his hands worked off Dean's jeans. Once he was free Dean leaned up and pulled Cas's hands into his own, threading his calloused fingers with Cas's equally worn hands. He kissed him deeply, trying to say so much in such a small action.

"Baby, we've got time." "No one's after us right now." "We can go slow." "We can take our time." "We're safe… it's you and me right now… and it's perfect…" "Please… I need you but this isn't purgatory… we're back… we're safe… we've got time…"

And Castiel responded like he knew exactly what he was saying. His body relaxed against Dean's.

After that they were gone.

Off in their own land where time was irrelevant and touch meant more than just something physical. They took their time exploring eachother. Memorizing what they'd forgot in their rush in purgatory. Every scar, every feather, every shade their skin had to offer… Every tone in Dean's voice, and every term of endearment in Enochian Castiel used. But each one simply meant, _"Dean"_. There were moments where things were a blur of skin and fiery lust, but they always returned to the slow burn of touch, and teasing.

They had time… And god fucking damnit they were going to enjoy it.


	2. I Believe in Sherlock Holmes - JohnSher

**A/N: This one is John centric. please ignore my horrible attempts at staying in Character! ;A; Johnlock if you squint.**

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_**I Believe in Sherlock Holmes**_

Somewhere, in the back of his mind, John Watson knew that Sherlock was alive. Something didn't sit right with him after Sherlock hung up… after he jumped.

_All was quiet in the alley, just two figures, one at each end cloaked in shadow, appeared to be disrupting the peace._

_ "I see you made it in good health Michael… I'm very impressed." A slim and sharp looking man smirked menacingly. His scar gleamed compared to the rest of him as he stepped under the streetlight. He ground out his cigarette and leaned on the heels of his feet looking bored. "It seems there's no stopping you… the _'Untouchable, Incorruptible Man_'."_

_ "Don't even start Harold… I will not allow you to continue this… very _dull_ and _cliché_ game of cat and mouse." Michael slid his own smirk on and took a step forward, his grip tightening his friend, Samuel's gun. "I won't let you hurt them."_

_ "Oh, Michael Jones, I wasn't going to _hurt_ them. I was going to _kill_ them. And, you see, therein lies your problem. _You care_. You care when you said that it was a weakness. A flaw… what does that make you?"_

John Watson lifted his hands off the keyboard and pinched the bridge of his nose. It has been three years and he hasn't had any contact with Mycroft after the fall. John and Lestrade would go drinking on occasion, nothing heavy, but there were days like this where he really felt like he needed to be out writing somewhere else rather than stuck in 221b.

He had moved out for a time but returned when he had a short run in with Mycroft on the street. Their encounter barely lasted seconds, but Watson will remember every word said for the rest of his life…

… "Do you believe in Sherlock Holmes?" …

It wasn't much… but the way Mycroft had said it, the very_ fact_ that he said it, struck him as odd. And he hadn't just said Sherlock, he included his surname when doing so would've been redundant. It was a quote, from the followers on his blog, the fans that remained loyal and supportive through all the trolls and the hate mail and the graffiti on Sherlock's tombstone.

… "I believe in Sherlock Holmes." …

He had asked for one more miracle…

Could it be possible that Sherlock had heard him? Could it be possible that he was there? He'd been to the cemetery everyday after that short encounter. "Observing" as Sherlock would say. He could almost hear Sherlock coaching him through the cemetery.

_"Notice how open, exposed this area is? The place is also fairly surrounded by mausoleums and smooth hard surfaces. Depending on its origin, sound could bounce off of anywhere. The grass and trees will absorb most of it, of course, but with all the graves fairly close knit…"_

Although he was probably horribly wrong he wanted to believe that Sherlock was alive, that he was off somewhere in hiding… Moriarty was a spider at the center of a web. He must've forced Sherlock's hand somehow… somehow…

And if that was the case then he needed to keep up the ruse of being depressed and in the dark. He adjusted, never really leaving the flat for anything other than necessity and the occasional meeting at the pub. But he still needed income. After a short exchange of emails with one of his fans he grew encouraged and started writing… a light novel series under the pen name, "Hamish Adler". He hoped that if Sherlock _was_ still alive, he'd pick up on the surname and remember his middle name. He hoped that Sherlock would pick up on the nods and winks to their own life as a pair. He's grown to accept that what Irene said was true and that she knew what she was talking about.

The series was an adventure/drama. And of course had the occasional dash of romance. The heroics of Doctor Michael Jones did tend to attract the attention of a few ladies as well as various wrongdoers. Samuel Morgan, his companion, stuck with him through and through, and even saved Michael by the skin of his teeth a few times. It had a pretty good following and he was expecting this last novel to be the conclusion to everything. He sighed and re-read the last few pages… something was missing but he couldn't put his finger on what… instead he continued writing.

_"That simply means I was… wrong… Harold Simon…" Michael growled. He raised the gun and fired a round off at Harold. His eyes grew wide when he saw that Harold was still standing after a very clean shot._

_ "What's wrong Michael? Drawn a blank?" the coy tone in Harold's voice spoke volumes. "You should really keep better track of the gun you carry. Someone might get mischievous and switch your rounds with blanks." Harold drew his own handgun and fired twice. Michael shouted in pain as the bullets hit his hip and leg, making it give out. "Where is your friend now? You abandoned him and now it seems that he's abandoned you."_

_ "I didn't abandon Sa-"_

_ "HE DOESN'T KNOW THAT!" Harold shouted, charging forward and bringing the blunt of his gun down on Michael's forehead. "He doesn't know that and when I kill you, he'll be the one to find you. I will make sure of it. It will break him… Tear him apart, and he'll think it's his fault because he'll know that the one time you two had a row and he _didn't_ follow you. You died."_

_ Michael glared with all the hate he could muster and spoke through clenched teeth._

_ "I won't die… I refuse to… not when I have people to protect…"_

Watson paused when he heard the floorboard near the doorway creak. Smoothly, one hand slid to his mouse and clicked "save" just incase the person obviously in the room decided to shoot him. His other hand casually fell to his lap and slid to the gun tucked against the underside of his desk.

"You _do_ know that doorbells exist right?" he scoffed, tense and ready to move as the slightest shift in weight.

"Well of course I do." That voice… "However, I do not see the point in ringing the door bell to a flat that I live in…" it's tired and relieved and barely kept contained underneath a shit-eating grin.

"I wasn't aware that I was sharing a flat with a messy son of a bitch." Watson said, his voice shaking just slightly as his eyes set on Sherlock, blonde and slightly tanned and thinner than he remembered… but it was Sherlock… "And you haven't paid your half of the rent in years." He stammered. This time, his voice was definitely shaking.


	3. KAZ-2Y5 - SPNxTouch

**A/N: HOLY SHIT YOU GUYS OMG! So, on black Friday I braved the land of Best Buy and picked up Season 1 of **_**Touch**_** and **_**Grimm**_**. No regrets. NONE. Especially with **_**Touch**_**. Excellent show! :D So here, have a drabble.**

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"Jake!"

A boy with a crown of curling brown hair didn't even flinch as he walked straight into the nearly deserted street. He barely even blinked as a car approached him. In fact he turned and stared directly at the driver.

_KAZ-2Y5_

The driver screeched to a halt and swore as he practically tore out of the gleaming 67' Chevy.

"Kid you okay!?" When the man saw that he was fine he sighed.

"Jake what were you thinking!? Sweetheart, you can't just walk in the street like that." The boy's father, a worn looking man crouched in front of him and looked him in the eyes but Jake seemed to ignore him. Instead, his gaze went from the driver to pointedly examining the license plate.

_KAZ-2Y5_

"Dude! You can't just let your kid wander anywhere. If I had actually picked up my phone three seconds ago he'd be road kill!" Dean was fighting between being nice in front of the kid and tearing this guy, who was probably his dad, a new one.

"Well I'd hold his hand but he doesn't like being touched." The dad grumbled under his breath. Dean heard him however and stormed over.

"Listen man. I'm kind of in a time crunch so I'm gonna go, but keep an eye on him alright?" He said shortly as he pinched the bridge of his nose. He turned to get back in his car but Jake hadn't moved.

"Jake, come on. We gotta go. This man needs to leave." His dad pleaded.

"Dean Winchester."

That was when Dean stopped in his tracks. He turned his head so fast that he swore he hurt his neck. Meanwhile, he dad sounded like he was having some kind of episode.

"Jake? Jake! He never speaks… Who's Dean Winchester?" His dad asked Jake. Jake went from staring at the license plate number to stare at Dean. His first instinct was to fling holy water on him but instead he just murmured, _'Cristo'_.

Nothing.

"How do you know my name?" He asked Jake. His dad looked from Jake to Dean and straightened.

"Dean? Listen, I know this sounds insane…" the dad started to say as Jake strode over to the sidewalk. "But… I'm Martin Bohm. I think we're supposed to meet eachother."


	4. Bone and Feathers - Destiel Angst

**A/N: I was sad the other day and decided to write crappy angst... I may continue this... probably wont tho...**

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It was as perfectly normal a day as Dean and Sam have ever had. Found a hunt, went off to save the day, returned back to their no tell motel and chilled.

But Dean was on edge and fidgety. His stomach was twisted up in knots and barely ate anything all day. Sam definitely noticed but in true Winchester fashion, Dean rolled his eyes, called him a bitch, and said "I'm fine."

Things became totally NOT fine when a monster storm rolled in. The worst in decades, as declared by the local news station. They were going to leave later that night but decided to stick around and hole up in the motel room. Everything was pretty decent until there was a sound like a torn tendon, shattering glass, breaking wood, and a wild herd of bulls running. Castiel materialized in mid air looking like he'd been thrown from a thousand feet in the air and he smashed into the opposite wall in the kitchenette.

Dean was already by his side while Sam grabbed a shotgun, scrabbling to guard his brother and best friend.

"Cas! What the fu-!? Oh god…" Dean bit back the urge to vomit as he examined their angel.

Cas was hyperventilating, eyes shot open wide with terror as clung to Dean in a grip that could break bones.

"Dean! How bad!?" He croaked, but Dean's eyes never left the wings that were now materialized behind Castiel.

"C-cas… it-"

"DEAN DO NOT BULLSHIT ME HOW BAD IS IT!?" Of course Castiel knew Dean would try and lie. Dean didn't realize it but Cas's emotions might be affecting him. He was crying.

"One of them… Half of it is gone and…"

"DEAN!" Cas shouted. He looked at him like he could fix him. Fix everything.

Castiel's wings were broken. No. The word _broken _barely even begins to describe what they are. Half of his left wing was missing, bone and left over chunks of muscle and feathers spasmed and bled as missing nerves tried to interact. The other one looked as though it had been literally been put through a paper shredder. The whole things was still there but bright ivory stabbed through the flesh in some placed and they were burned on top of lacerated beyond repair.

"Who did this to you Castiel?" Dean growled, ready to tear open heaven and gank the bastard that did this.

"Dean, i think something's coming." Sam rumbled knowing in the back of his mind _exactly_ what was coming for them. Castiel reached over to the blood pooling on the ground and made a sigil on the nearest wall before going limp, his eyes trying to keep up with the swirling room.

"Naomi… Dean… She's an angel… She- tried to-"

"Shut up Cas, you're losing alot of blood. Why isn't your grace healing you?" Dean demanded, lifting Cas's head and trying to keep him awake. "Cas. Cas, stay with me buddy, come on." He tried to pretend that his voice didn't break as he ordered Sam to grab the sheets off the bed and tear them into strips.

"Dean… don't. Please don't. I'm nothing now. I… I'm… not…" Castiel's body went limp but he was still breathing. Just barely.

"CAS! DAMN IT CASTIEL! I swear to god if- you die…"


	5. You Aren't You - Destiel (death&smut)

**A/N:** I watched "The Following" monday and the song Change by the Deftones was playing and so this fic was born! I don't usually write like this but i figured someone would like it. Don't kill me I'm just the writer. ;A;

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Dean knew the moment he heard that tell tale flutter of black silken wings that he wasn't gonna be sleeping tonight. It was late to begin with but he sat up anyway and was about to ask Cas what was up but the angel didn't say a word. It was just him and Dean in the room that night.

It took barely a second to stride across the room to Dean's bed but it felt like room grew cold and Dean's gut knotted as Castiel straddled his lap and began a slow process of shrugging off his jacket. Something wasn't right. He was silent. Dead silent. Normally Cas looked at him when they were about to kiss, or even touch, but Cas pushed him back against the bed and slid his hands up Dean's chest, eyes locked on his lips, neck, everything else but his eyes.

He was looking at him but he wasn't. It was the dead look you get when you've given up hope. Dean's seen it too many times on his own face to recognize it. Cas gripped the back of Dean's neck and pulled him into a hard slow kiss thick with need and almost fear. He could almost taste the despair. He felt the heat from his body but it made his shiver and all Dean felt was cold and desolate.

"Cas? Are you okay?" Dean asked after wrenching himself away from Castiel.

"I'm fine Dean… don't talk." He said. Even his voice sounded different. It sounded like he was relaying a message of some kind from someone else. There was a shallow lag between his words that almost made him sound like he was drugged. Dean examined him again and noticed how pink and glossy the skin around his eyes were, like he'd been crying.

"Cas, if you're keeping something from me you need to say something." Dean said firmly trying to sit up.

"Dean, no. I'm fine… please… I just need you." His voice was still broken and distant.

He was about to argue but Castiel flared out his wings. They looked as though they'd been used to clean a chimney, coal colored, dull, and disgusting. They weren't the glossy, endless, Milky Way black that Dean had grown addicted to. They were the slippery mold covered bark of a dying tree. And they felt like it too.

The smell of his wings was different too. it wasn't like rain anymore. It was like burning paint and hair. Blistering vinyl and sludge. It was toxic and a different kind of addicting. Castiel's wings encased them both, primary feathers scraping his skin like wet rock and drugging his mind into unwanted lust.

"Cas, what are you doing?" Dean slurred trying to shake free of the toxic air that was quickly filling the room.

"I just need you right now Dean." Cas said gently tugging Dean's head back and laying a kiss on his exposed neck. Dean shuddered from the sensation of wrong as Cas laced their hands together, but he let him continue.

Before long he was lost, Dean could barely think, between begs and cries he raked his fingers down Cas's back, between his shoulder blades as he tried to get closer. Go deeper. But it was never enough. Not this time, and it felt wrong, but he was too far-gone to try and stop. He was sure that at one point he'd buried his head against Castiel's neck and bit into the skin of his collarbone. The next hour was a mess of tangled limbs and a dash of cold, sickening foreboding.

Dean wasn't sated. He reached heaven twice, calling Cas's name and the entire time Cas had stayed silent, occasionally a tear would leak from his eyes and mix with the sweat gleaning across his skin. He finally stopped, looking down at Dean with despair, fear, anguish, any variety of the words would suffice. Dean's heavy mind didn't realize he hands had slipped around his neck until he felt the pressure and tears fell freely from Castiel's eyes.

"Stop, please stop… Stop! STOP! NAOMI STOP!" Cas found himself shouting. Black webs began to feed into the edges of Dean's vision as he felt his body begin to shut down. So this is what was wrong with Cas… His eyes locked with Cas's and he saw it. Something there that was sickening and foreign. It wasn't Cas, it was someone else using him… With the strength he could muster he lifted his arm and placed a hand on the side of Cas's face. His thumb uselessly wiped a tear from the corner of his eye.

_"I love you…"_

The words died on his lips.


	6. Leather Meets Steel - HetaxSPN

**A/N: Here, have a bad hetalia/SPN crossover. ;A; i'm sorry for being bad at everything always.**

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"So, you and Matty are hunting a poltergeist?" Dean asked. He _just_ met this guy an hour ago and he could already tell that they were gonna get along.

"Nope! We _were_ hunting a poltergeist. We just smoked that sucker and now we're celebrating. But call Matty 'Matt' when he gets back. My bro gets mad when people call him Matty." The guy was blonde and blue eyed wearing around a World War II Pilot jacket like he could just pick one up at Wal-Mart.

"I gotta ask Al, where in gods green earth did you get that beauty?" Dean asked resisting the urge to grab the jacket and try it on. It still looked brand new. "And what the hell are you doing wearing it on hunts?"

"Hey, this thing has been soaked in blood, ectoplasm, you name it and it always comes back looking like new. I know a guy who's good with clothes." Al smiled lifting up the jacket fondly. "You wanna try it on?"

"Um, YES." Dean smiled and sat up to pull his own leather jacket off. He shrugged on Alfred's jacket and couldn't help but crack a smile and strike an Elvis style pose. "This is so cool!"

"I know right!? That jacket has been in the family since WWII. Still in mint condition! But I have a question for you now Mr. Winchester." Alfred asked taking a swig of his beer. Dean returned his jacket and sat back down.

"Where the hell did you score that gorgeous piece of steel in the parking lot?" Dean cracked a prideful smile and looked out the window at his car.

"'67 Chevy Impala, or as I like to call her, 'Baby'." He said with finality. "She's kept me 'n Sammy alive for god knows how long. I had to literally rebuild her from the ground up more than twice. Both times demons were involved." Dean grumbled and picked at his fries from earlier.

"Fuckin demons… But seriously Dean, she looks like she just rolled off the assembly line. You did an awesome job on the restoration." Al said suddenly becoming wistful. "Have you ever thought about what you're gonna do after this? Well… assuming there's an after this…" Al smiled. "'Cuz I think you'd be a legendary mechanic."

"Not really…" Dean said staring out the window at Baby. "I honestly don't think there's a way out of this that doesn't end bloody… There's a guy I know. His name's Cas. He's like a brother to both Sam and I. We're worried about him and we think he's about to do something stupid. We're gonna try and find him tomorrow but I just can't shake this feeling in my gut that we're not gonna come out of it all in one piece…" He sighed.

"Well how about this," Al started after a short glance at baby, "If you die I'll take care of your car. I've done a couple restorations myself. And if you live, you can have my jacket." He offered with a smile and a swig.

"What? That's a horrible bet." Dean laughed. "and no offense dude, but I barely know you and I've already told you more than I'm comfortable with sharing with my own brother." Dean said feeling a tiny spark of suspicion die in the back of his mind.

"Yeah, that happens around me… I guess it's 'cuz I'm so awesome." He said with a knowing smile on his face. "So are you taking the bet or not?" Dean sized him up before offering him a smile and a handshake.  
"If both Sammy and I explode, sure, why not?"


End file.
